PeaceBang

All Our Talented Exes

Congratulations to my super talented Ex, who just won a hugely competitive $48,000 Bush grant for artists!! He’s going to do a one-man show about FAITH!

And who do you think helped him develop THAT idea!?

Just because you don’t marry a guy doesn’t mean you can’t stay on his staff as Muse.

SO proud of ya, Davy Wavy.

Give Me Lip

So I go to the church in town to give my big lecture and one of the minister hosts comes up to me and tells me about the pulpit and the microphones and all that jazz, and then she says, “How do you do your lips? They’re so great.” And of course I am BEYOND thrilled — I figure now even if my lecture stinks I will have brought the Good News of CoverGirl to yet another colleague, and I say, “It’s this CoverGirl thing in Blush Pearl or Nude Blush and it stays like mad!” And then I whip it out of my bag and show her, along with the new MAC lipgloss I just purchased today, and we giggle over it and it was just so fun.

And then I saw in the rearview mirror on the way home that the MAC top coat has glitter in it. Glitter, for the love of Zeus!
How can I be taken seriously in glittery lips!
I hope it wasn’t noticeable.

Anyway, the lecture went terrifically well and I am going to sleep so hard tonight. It wound up being a 17-page paper and man, what a relief. Oh, there’s Mom. Gotta go.

New Sexy Repressed Gospel Scandal!

Probably half a dozen people told me about this in church. They were so excited!

Although I have my cynicism and doubts (http://www.peregrinato.com/), I always love it when laypeople get into any religion story. When they say, “HEY, would you preach on this!?” so much the better. Speaking of which, why oh why can’t ministers understand the power of the catchy sermon title? Sure it may be cheap marketing, but darn it, it gets people through the door! As for those righteous preachers who say, “Sermon title? I don’t publish sermon titles! They shouldn’t be choosing which services to attend the way they choose a movie to go to on Saturday night!” I couldn’t agree with you more. You are absolutely right. They should, and I am a cheap huckster for luring them through the church doors with sexy titles and quippy descriptions. It’s just that… it works.

Sunday night TV date, right here, baby:

http://www9.nationalgeographic.com/channel/gospelofjudas/

Strangely Grateful

I got into bed last night at 10:00 p.m. with my beloved friend Carl Scovel’s lovely little book, Never Far From Home. I read it for about half an hour and then fell asleep until 7 a.m. at which hour the cat threw herself full length against my side, which she only does when I’m having an anxiety attack. I woke up and felt the familiar tingle starting at my legs, and the sensation I refer to as “the breathing thing.” I reassured her. “This is going to be a short one, my little Psych Nurse. It’s Sunday morning and we have to get ready for church.”

So I sat up and let the little waves of anxiety crest and break, and talked to the cat about how it was likely to be like this until after Easter, and summer vacation was coming and we would lounge around a lot and watch movies and read books and play the banjo. She stayed pressed against me until the discomfort passed. It was very minor. There is a curious part of me that always finds these episodes strangely fascinating.

But I just want to say that I RESENT this. I deeply resent that I have this physical reaction to simply over-doing what I love most (lately, studying and writing and thinking Deep Thoughts). I resent the sensation that millions and millions of little ants are swarming around inside my legs. I resent that what feels best and most truly anxiety-reducing is a hard work-out at the gym, because I happily existed for years as the Girl Who Hated To Sweat. I was determined to maintain my exercise phobia! Now I’m one of those people who has to go to the gym all the time. NB: this is not making me svelte and muscular. It is just making me sweaty. So far.

My maternal grandmother, who died some years ago, had anxiety. She frequently referred to “her nerves.” We were not close. I judged her as being querulous, negative and petty, even though she loved us as best she was able. She was a great cook– the best pierogies ever– and although she watched her own figure carefully, she pushed food on everyone else (even plumpster moi).

I find myself reaching back to her these days and understanding her better. When anxiety symptoms start it helps so much to know that these things are genetic, I inherit them from my Type A father (who was a zoomy, wired guy if there ever was one) and from my Baba. I compare my life with theirs: freedom, comfort, privilege, wonderful education, love and support from all sides, a terrific family, healthy food on the table every night (well, okay, it COULD be healthy every night! and it COULD be on the table and not eaten on the run), a totally thrilling and fulfilling professional life, the joy of living in beloved community with a congregation I adore, a lovely home, a good manicurist and hairdresser (c’mon, we have to count ALL our blessings).

Do we ever count so-called disorders among our blessings? How about when they lead us into better stewardship of our bodies, a deeper appreciation for the intricacies of how we are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” and a closer, more compassionate relationship to a long-dead grandmother?

Got Hybrid?

Does anyone out there own a hybrid car? I’m thinking of buying a used one for my next vehicle.

My questions:

(1) Do they feel fast and safe enough to zip around in treacherous Boston traffic, where everyone rides up high and fantasizes that they’re in their own private NASCAR?

(2) Are they user-friendly, or am I going to wind up leaving my lights on all the time by accident?

(3) Is it impossible to find a mechanic who can service them?

(4) So are you Honda or Toyota?

Your Laugh Of the Day

Still chortling…

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/46971

Gallery of Bad Punctuation

As anyone who has used the on-line personal ads knows, the sites are a goldmine of superfluous quotation marks and misplaced apostophes. Some guy just contacted me, but because he’s a gentleman who seek’s a special lady, I just can’t get excited about his blurry photos and cliched self-description. I can’t help it — inappropriate apostrophes chill me. I am a former English teacher, after all. A girl has to have some standard’s.

[This just in: an ad for a guy who says his eye’s are bright. Stop the madness! - P.B.]
[This just in, 4/9, man from neighboring community writes, “sharing a bottle of wine… lot’s of kisses” - Lord, will it never end? - P.B.]

Please enjoy this while I return to the literary and sermonic salt mines:

http://www.juvalamu.com/qmarks/

Real Estate Porn

Taking a break this afternoon I read an article in the recent Boston magazine about a family who bought an old elementary school in Cambridge, MA and tricked it out as a private home. This after the locals protested the construction of condos in the space and it stood empty for six years when development offer after offer fell through.

As a result, a family of five — three of whom are teenagers who are ostensibly soon to leave the nest — resides in a four story house with its own full-size basketball court and art studio. The author of the article cheers that the family and their contractor have breathed new life into the space.

I’m sorry, but I don’t see new life. I see a nightmare of conspicuous consumption, rampant narcissism and NIMBYism taken to practically criminal extremes. I blame not the family for their creative vision (although I certainly criticize their need to use up so much space) but the community for its hostility to the idea of dozens of people being able to live in a space now used by five. What was it about, parking? I’m sure a more creative solution might have been found than vetoing the idea of condos.

How about a co-op for people committed to using local transportation? Applications for residency would determine the residents’ ability to get along without a car. As it is, I can’t help but think of the many people who would have loved to live in that neighborhood, walk to the T and ride into the city to get to work. Who knows what kind of commute they have now?

Of course the irony is that because of attitudes like those displayed by the local community in Cambridge, real estate prices in the greater Boston area are so prohibitively expensive that the Lander’s children probably won’t be able to afford to live anywhere near Mom and Dad once they graduate from college. I hope Mr. and Mrs. count on all their chicks returning to the nest, and staying there for a very long time.

Can you imagine? A whole, full length basketball court on your fourth floor. Just for the kids and their buddies.

Barf.

Notice

I attended the first of a three-part lecture series last night in town and was very impressed. There was a nice crowd present and the speakers were excellent.

This all filled me with abject terror, as I am one of the speakers at next Tuesday’s second part of the lecture series. So you won’t be hearing much from me until then.

Today is the 23rd anniversary of my father’s death. Of blessed memory.

http://tinyurl.com/7fjwu